Tag Archives: mourning

Farewell, sis … what a ride!

PORTLAND — I came back to the city my birth — and my sisters’ birth — to bid farewell to the older of my sisters.

Georgianne surrendered to the physical demons that had plagued her for years, succumbing Feb. 24 to complications brought on by COPD.  She was 14 months younger than me.

We had two services. One was to celebrate sis’s amazing life. She lived just short of 74 years. Her trip in this life was a wild one, to be sure. She had her issues growing up. Sis got through them and went on to lead a productive life. The other service was at the crypt where her ashes are interred next to Mom and Dad.

Sis never really shook herself completely free of the difficulties that followed her into teenhood and early young adulthood.

However, she was full of love and that love came back to blanket her during the celebrations we had of the life she led. I am grateful for that and I know she is, too.

I will return home late tomorrow to North Texas, where I have established my own life. Perhaps I should say where I am rebuilding my life. Many of you who have read this blog know about the circumstances there. It’s coming along.

This trip to where I came into this world, though, is about Georgianne Duback. She would tell me while seeking a favor from me that “I’ll love you forever.”

Well, sis, know that I truly will love you forever.

Suffering kitty withdrawal

So help me I didn’t see this coming … not ever in a zillion years.

My first full day back to having my Princeton, Texas, dwelling more or less all to myself has been, shall we say, a challenge. Why? Well, because Sabol the Puppy and I are without our two feline friends, Marlowe and Macy.

They have joined their daddy, my son, who this week moved into his new home about six miles south of us in rural Princeton. My son moved in with me in the spring of 2023 after his mother passed away from a savage form of brain cancer. He brought his cats with him.

I gotta tell ya, Marlow and Macy bonded very nicely with their grandpa … aka me. Marlowe and I have grown particularly close. He slept at the end of my bed with me damn near every night. I would move during the night, perhaps disturb him, and he would walk ever-so-softly toward my face, nuzzle me and purr in my ear. This would last a few minutes, then he would return to his spot at my feet and go back to sleep.

Yes, I miss my son. I was glad he came. I have told him he saved my life, sparing me from much of the grief he, his brother, sister-in-law and his niece were all suffering with Kathy Anne’s sudden illness and departure. We powered through it together.

I say that, but damn, I miss the kitties in a way I didn’t expect.

It’s going to take time. I am used to telling both Marlowe and Macy that I love them. I also am going to my grave believing they know what I was telling them.

When they were hungry, they would let me know. First thing in the morning, they were at my door yelling at me, “Hey, we’re hungry, grandpa!”

I say all this knowing that I am not totally alone. I have Sabol. She is a scream! I leave the house for 45 seconds, return and she acts like I’ve been gone for a week. She has a limitless supply of affectionate licks and she doles them out with extreme enthusiasm.

President Truman once said about life in Washington, “If you want a friend, get a dog.” Sabol is my friend for life.

Still, the house just isn’t quite the same.

Time for an adjustment

Adjustments come in many forms, too many to count or to tick off … but here’s the thing: I am going through another adjustment as I write this brief blog post.

My son has purchased a house in Princeton, Texas. It’s about six miles south of the home he and I shared for about 18 months. He moved here in the spring of 2023 after we all suffered an unbearable tragedy, the loss of my dear bride to glioblastoma cancer of the brain.

OK, maybe “unbearable” isn’t quite accurate, as we were able to bear it, albeit with considerable pain. My sons, daughter-in-law and my granddaughter have managed to move forward with our lives.

When my son, the older of my two boys, came here he brought a broken heart. We healed together, along with his brother and his family. You see, in February 2023 after 51 years of marriage to Kathy Anne, I was suddenly alone. Then, thanks to my son’s desire to be near his dad, I wasn’t alone. How about that?

He brought his two kitties, Macy and Marlowe, with him. They helped spice up the activity in our modest home. They made themselves quite comfy in their new digs. Of course, I had Toby the Puppy when they moved in. Then I lost Toby at the end of 2023.  More heartache ensued, and it was time for additional adjustments.

Then along came Sabol in September. She joined our family immediately upon my return from vacation. this past summer. She has been beyond a mere joy to have. She is a full-fledged member of my family.

Yes, another adjustment.

Now comes the latest episode requiring some change. My son has moved out. Today he took his kitties with him. They’re now ensconced in their new home just a few miles down the road.

Guess what … I am learning all over again to adjust to being — more or less — alone with my thoughts.

But I do have Sabol here. Her desire for affection and her capacity to deliver it are endless.

Life is good, man.

A year later, pain is manageable

I grappled with my heart over whether I wanted to post anything about a sad date that is about to visit my family and me.

I have decided to go ahead with an acknowledgment of the date and a declaration that I am looking toward a bright, adventurous future.

It was a year ago, Feb. 3, 2023, when my phone rang and the nurse at the other end of the call informed me that my beloved bride had just passed away. Cancer took Kathy Anne from my family and me. It was a savage, but brief, bout with glioblastoma.

You know about that. I won’t dwell on it here.

It’s been a remarkable year to say the very least. I have embarked on what I have described as a journey through darkness. I am quite happy to proclaim, though, that the light is shining much brighter today than it dared shine on the worst day of our lives.

I have made the trek, recovering from the intense pain one always feels when you suffer such a loss. I have sought to chronicle my journey on this blog. I have shared the highs and lows of the past year. It has been cathartic and therapeutic. It has given me emotional relief to share these experiences on this blog platform.

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Thus, I am glad to have done so, although to be sure, I would wish only that I never had to embark on that journey. But … I did. So did my family and we are counting the blessings of having each other to recall the joy we shared with my bride.

The future now awaits. I am embracing it fully and I have committed to living every single day going forward as if it is my final day on this good Earth.

My friends have told me the “pain will never disappear, but it will become manageable.” It has … and it won’t stop me from living the fullest life possible.

A different new year awaits

Normally, I am inclined to approach the end of a year with a shrug and an “I’ll take whatever comes next” attitude.

2023 has been, and please excuse the understatement, a radically different span of time for my family and me. We lost the rock of our family at the first of the year when cancer struck my dear bride, Kathy Anne. She passed away Feb. 3 and for the time in my entire life I was left to fend for myself. Yes, I have my sons, my daughter-in-law and my granddaughter nearby. I cherish them beyond all measure. However, I am on my own in many ways large and small.

I told someone close to me recently that I lived with my parents until my late teens; then I was inducted into the Army; I served two years under Uncle Sam’s watchful eye; I returned to Mom and Dad’s home; then I met a gorgeous girl in college; we got married shortly thereafter; we were husband and wife for 51 blissful years.

Then she was gone. Just like that. Do you get what I mean by “alone”?

I don’t usually make new year’s resolutions. This year is different. My new year’s resolution — and I am going to declare it here — will be to continue my search for happiness. I will make another declaration. It is that my path is considerably brighter today than it was for most of 2023. I don’t yet know where it will end for me.

I have been able during the months since I lost Kathy Anne to travel through much of the country. I embarked on trips to, as I noted, to “clear my head and mend my heart.” I am happy to report that my noggin is pretty clear as I write these words and my heart is enduring far fewer spasms of grief. I need to state, though, that Kathy Anne’s illness and passing wasn’t the end of my sorrow. On Dec. 1 I lost Toby the Puppy, my companion and best buddy, as he no longer could battle the cancer that ravaged his body.

I am gathering up all the paper calendars I have collected in my house in Princeton and on Dec. 31 I intend — per a suggestion from a friend — to conduct a 2023 calendar-burning event in my back yard. I might even yelp for joy as I watch the flames engulf the numbers “2023.”

When the flames subside and the embers cool in the fire pit, I will commence my journey forward. Kathy Anne insisted many years ago that I seek happiness were she to leave this Earth first. Therefore, I am following her directive.

Forward is the only path for me.

Here is to a much happier year ahead.

Despair arrived … then vanished

Almost from the moment I began to shake myself loose from the intense pain I felt on the worst day of my life, I knew days like today would knock me back on my heels.

My worst day occurred on Feb. 3, when my beloved bride Kathy Anne was taken from us by an aggressive form of brain cancer. My journey since then has experienced its ups and downs; the good news is that the down periods are far less frequent these days as the light along my emotional trail gets brighter.

Then days like today arrive. This is Kathy Anne’s 72nd birthday. It’s the first such birthday without her. Those of you who have lost loved ones — and that includes just about every human being who’s ever lived — understand the difficulty of these “firsts.”

My sons and I went to the cemetery to pay our respects to her and to tell her we are doing OK. We miss her terribly. However, it is important for me to stipulate that Kathy Anne was a pragmatic woman. She dealt with reality often stoically. She wasn’t one to wallow in her own sorrow and didn’t like it when others did so.

She all but ordered me many years ago to get on with my life if she were to depart this good Earth before me. Like most husbands who enjoy successful marriages, I am doing what I was told to do. I have re-entered the world of social interaction. Therefore, I have reason to hope for many more brighter days and far fewer darker ones.

I believe today was about as dark as it is likely to get for me moving forward. My sons, my daughter-in-law and my granddaughter are suffering through their own pain as well. The good news is that we all know we are there for each other.

So … my journey continues. The pain that returned when I awoke this morning was expected. I was ready for it. I got through it.

What’s more, I am quite certain tomorrow will arrive with the sun shining brightly. I will enjoy the day. Kathy Anne would insist on it.

Trek finds new traction

My bride once asked me — while we attended the 10-year reunion of my Portland, Ore., high school class — why I wasn’t reuniting with the female classmates gathered at a city park where we all met.

My answer to Kathy Anne: I was “painfully shy” as a teenager. I was uncomfortable talking to girls, I told her. Less than four years after graduating from high school, the sensational young woman whom I would marry broke me of my shyness … if you know what I mean.

I recently declared my intention to return to the world “social interaction” since losing my dear bride to cancer this past February. I am a lot more socially skilled than I was a teenager. I like talking to “girls” these days and if you’ll pardon my candor, I am pretty good at it.

I still get a bit jittery at the prospect of asking someone on a date. I still don’t always say the correct thing at precisely the correct moment.

I also realize something else. I am nearly 74 years of age. Thus, time is not my ally. I figure that if I am going to find someone with whom I want to spend copious amounts of time in my final years on Earth, I had better get busy.

Thus, my journey through the post-mortem grief of losing the love of my life is getting brighter seemingly each day. It isn’t quite so dark these days along the path I have been walking since I bid farewell to my beloved Kathy Anne.

My destination still is to be determined. As I shake off the shyness that inhibited me as a youth, I know I’ll find that place sooner rather than later.

Is this ‘premature’? Umm, no

A statement from a woman whose acquaintance I made recently kind of caught me off guard … until I took a moment to process it.

She wondered if I was being “premature” in my effort to restart my life after losing my bride, Kathy Anne, to cancer in February. “It hasn’t even been a year,” she said, alluding to those upcoming “firsts” one endures after losing a loved one. You know, first birthday, first Christmas, first New Year’s Eve, first wedding anniversary one should commemorate with the loved one by your side.

I answered her forthrightly. “I believe I am ready” to proceed with my life, I said. Why? Because Kathy Anne would have it no other way. She made her point to me abundantly clear once or twice when we both were in the peak of health. “I want you to find happiness,” she instructed me in a stern voice, in the event she preceded me to her Great Reward.

My marriage succeeded over the course of 51 years largely because I followed the rule most husbands must follow: I did what my wife told me to do.

Do not ever misconstrue this carved-in-stone fact, which is that no woman ever can replace the love of my life. If I am able to find a new partner, she will understand that fact. My sons, my daughter-in-law, my granddaughter all know that about me. They know that Kathy Anne always will be first in my heart.

The task for me emotionally always will be to deal with the pain that is certain to flare on occasion. It will happen without warning. Indeed, I am functioning quite well while performing this or that task.

There can be no doubt that Feb. 3, 2023 was the worst day of my life and the lives of my family members. It happened near the beginning of what has turned out to be the crappiest year of my life.

However, I do possess an eternal wellspring of optimism. The future, as they say, is for the living. I intend to live my life on my own terms, albeit while following the instruction of my darling Kathy Anne.

Happiness is out there for me. I intend to find it.

Journey nearing its end

My journey through the darkness has found sufficient light for me to declare that I believe it is nearing its end.

Does that mean the destination is near, that I have no more distance to travel before I can declare my life has been (more or less) restored since the passing of the only woman I’ve ever loved with all my heart?

It means only that I can see much more clearly these days, that I can profess openly that I am ready for a relationship if the right one were to present itself. I don’t mean to sound coy or cagey. I only mean to tell you the obvious, which is that my heart is likely to remain permanently damaged and that I am learning the complexities of dealing with the pain.

Kathy Anne’s brief but savage fight with glioblastoma at the beginning of this horrible year will remain with me for the rest of my life on Earth. She had six weeks from her diagnosis to the end. The oncologist who was scheduled to treat her called her form of cancer “the most aggressive” he ever has seen.

That was then. The here and now puts me in a position to start to move on, to commence with the rest of my life. My beautiful bride, Kathy Anne, was 71 when she passed. I am almost 74. She was in good health until, well, she wasn’t. I am in reasonably good health … at this moment. The events of this year have taught me the bitterest of lessons. One of them is that at my age, health can turn from blessing to curse in rapid fashion.

I am not going to sit around, awaiting the outcome I know awaits all of us. I intend to live, just as Kathy Anne insisted I do back when we both were young and had a long life ahead of us.

There will be more tales to tell about my journey as it progresses into the blinding light of the living. I’m not there yet.

But, damn … I believe it’s getting closer!

Following bride’s advice

My late bride once informed me — and I don’t recall the precise time or even the context of the conversation — that she didn’t want me to grieve forever if she left this Earth before I did.

“I want you to be happy,” Kathy Anne told me with a note of sternness in her voice. “If you find someone, then you should pursue that relationship,” she added. My response was similar, but not identical. I believe I answered with, “I want the same for you sweetie, but to be honest the thought of you being ‘with’ another man would drive me out of my mind.”

Well, Kathy Anne did leave this world first. I believe I am ready, though, to follow her instruction about finding happiness.

This journey I’ve been on since the worst day of my life likely will never end. The journey has been dark and at times full of sadness. Until just recently. It has brightened a bit largely because my own head has cleared and I am able to actually think about where I want to be in, say, three to five years.

I do not intend to move from Princeton, Texas. This will remain my forever home, as it belonged to Kathy Anne and me and served to be our base of operations while we visited our granddaughter, her parents and while we traveled throughout this great big, gorgeous country of ours. I’m still able to all of that, although the travel plans have changed a bit; but I am making that work, too.

As for future companionship, well, I will let that play out in due course. I have advised my sons — and any young man willing to listen to this advice — against “looking for the girl of your dreams. She will just show up.” It happened to one of my sons, and it damn sure happened to me. My other son will find that individual, I am sure, one day.

So will I. Thus, I am declaring that I won’t resist the tug into a new relationship when it starts to pull. But whoever comes along will need to understand the nature of the huge hole that remains in my permanently damaged heart.

If she has taken steps along a journey of her own, I am certain that she’ll get it.